


we’re all lost stars (trying to light up the dark)

by enoughtotemptme



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Raven Reyes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, POV Clarke Griffin, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Previous Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Previous Finn Collins/Raven Reyes, Princess Mechanic, Revenge Sex, Roommates, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughtotemptme/pseuds/enoughtotemptme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven wants to know what about Clarke is so special that Finn wanted her too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we’re all lost stars (trying to light up the dark)

**Author's Note:**

> I know I usually write Bellarke fluff but this fic took over my mind until I wrote it, so here you go. :)

So far Clarke’s sophomore year of college is a goddamned disaster. Within the first week, she and her new roommate realize that the guy Clarke’s been dating since her freshman orientation is the same fucking guy Raven’s been dating since she was _fifteen,_ and sure, _Finn’s_ the scumbag in the situation, and both of them kicked his ass to the curb when they found out. But ever since then, she and Raven have been walking on eggshells around each other, and it sucks because after her sex-crazed freshman roommate, she had really liked living with Raven until everything blew up in their faces.

It hasn’t gotten any better, Raven’s still quiet and hurt-looking and angry, and it’s Friday of Week Three of the fall quarter. Neither of them have class on Fridays, so Clarke’s sitting at her desk in her sleep shorts and tank top, watching _The Mindy Project_ on her laptop and wishing that she had never met Finn Fuckbag Collins. Last time Clarke checked, Raven was reading a copy of _American Gods_ , so when the current _Mindy_ ends and Clarke slips on her robe over her pjs and grabs her caddy to head to the showers, she’s startled when she finds Raven staring intensely at her when she turns around. Raven doesn’t even blink, apparently not bothered to be caught scrutinizing her.

“Uh,” Clarke says. “Help you with something?”

Raven purses her lips and hops off her bed.

“Yeah,” she says. “What’s so special about you?”

The question takes her aback, but it’s not hard for Clarke to understand what Raven really means: _What made you so special Finn wanted to fuck you, too._

Clarke sighs. “Raven, I don’t know. I don’t know what he was thinking. Trust me, I thought I knew him, but I obviously had _no_ idea what was going through his head.”

Raven makes a funny little sound and approaches Clarke, grabbing the shower caddy from her hand and setting it on Clarke’s desk.

“Raven?” Clarke asks warily.

The other girl ignores her, and the hairs on Clarke’s arms and the back of her neck are rising as Raven circles her in silence––she wonders if Raven can see them with Clarke’s hair gathered up in her messy topknot. Then, as she feels warm breath on the back of her neck, she wonders how Raven would miss them.

Clarke’s not quite sure why she’s not moving away, not responding. Even when Raven steps back in front of her, eyes dark, a little sneer on her face, and grabs the lapels of Clarke’s bathrobe, she doesn’t move. She lets out a little gasp when Raven yanks it off and drops it to the floor, but doesn’t move a muscle as Raven’s eyes rake her up and down, taking in the little sleep shorts, her obvious lack of a bra under her cami (and oh _god,_ her nipples are definitely saying hello in response to Raven’s gaze).

Clarke feels hot and cold all over at the same time and then Raven says, “Let me see them.”

Clarke’s mouth makes a little ‘o’ of surprise and something deep in her clenches. _What?_

As if reading Clarke’s mind, Raven demands, “You heard me. Take the shirt off.”

Raven looks belligerent and regal and hot, which is impressive with her messy bun and crappy pajamas, and Clarke finds herself reaching with shaking fingers for the hem of her cami, pulling it off and dropping it on top of the forgotten robe.

She crosses her arms self-consciously underneath her breasts and notices Raven watching as Clarke’s nipples harden even further in direct contact with the cool air of their dorm room.

Raven purses her lips again, and something in Clarke shivers in response.

“They’re bigger than mine,” Raven concedes. “And your nipples are cute.”

Clarke shifts a little in place, her thighs just barely grazing each other, and Raven zeroes in on the movement.

“Now those,” she says, waving at the little shorts. Clarke lets out a long, shaky breath, but hesitantly uncrosses her arms and reaches for the drawstring of her shorts. This all feels surreal, but it’s made even more unbelievable by the bright midmorning sun pouring through their dorm window. It’s so bright the overhead light isn’t even turned on, yet Clarke is painfully aware that Raven can see everything. _Everything._

The other girl makes an impatient noise and waves her hand at Clarke to hurry up. With the string undone, Clarke slips her thumbs into the shorts and starts to wiggle them down.

“Panties, too,” Raven snaps. Clarke freezes for just a second, then readjusts so her thumbs catch the edge of her lace bikini too. She shimmies the rest of her clothing down until just past her hips, where the shorts and panties fall straight to her ankles.

Raven scoffs when she sees Clarke’s mons is bare. “No hair?” she says, “You’re like a fucking Barbie doll, Griffin.”

Clarke feels her face turning red, but she’s amazed that she wasn’t a tomato before. She’s standing fucking bare ass naked, mindlessly following the commands of her fucking roommate, and she’s shivering even though it’s not really cold because something in Raven’s hooded, angry gaze tells her that Clarke’s not the only one affected.

Raven sets her mouth, looking almost mutinous and starts that circling thing again. She’s not even fucking touching Clarke but Clarke’s embarrassingly aware of the way her quiet breaths have quickened in tiny, nervous pants. Still quiet, but she knows Raven must have noticed.

“You’re not bad,” Raven says, in front of Clarke again. “But I don’t see what the big fucking deal was.”

Finally Clarke tries to speak. “I-”

But Raven glares at her and she shuts her mouth with an audible click.

“Don’t.” That’s all the other girl says, and Clarke can’t help but release a barely audible whimper in response, which Raven either allows or ignores. Raven’s still tracing Clarke’s naked body, every inch of it, with her eyes and when she meets Clarke’s gaze there’s some kind of decision being made.

Clarke discovers what it is when Raven leans forward and captures her mouth in a kiss. Clarke squeaks a little but it quickly turns into a moan that Raven swallows as she turns the kiss in a violent direction. Soon Raven’s tongue is prying open Clarke’s lips and their teeth are clacking and Clarke can hardly _breathe_ when Raven’s tongue strokes her own in an almost gentle way, and the girl dominating her senses so completely is the sweetest thing Clarke’s ever tasted. Then Raven nips her bottom lip, _hard,_ and Clarke cries out and jerks away out of reflex, the sudden throbbing of her lip accompanying the sudden throb deep in her cunt.

Clarke stares at Raven, and is painfully aware of the fact that the _only_ place the other girl’s touched her is her mouth, and the rest of her is crying out for attention but she’s afraid to move in the wrong way and break the spell that’s been cast over their room.

For the first time, Raven looks at her with a smirk instead of a sneer, though she still seems a little murderous.

“Can’t complain,” she murmurs in a low voice, and drags the back of her hand across her mouth. “But I’m not convinced.”

 _Oh_ , Clarke thinks suddenly. _Is she...will she…?_ She looks at the smirk and at Raven’s red, swollen lips, and feels the lingering pain of her own, and thinks, _Please._

Raven reaches out and pushes lightly, but not necessarily gently, on Clarke’s shoulders, causing her to stumble backward, nearly tripping over her discarded clothes before landing on her ass on her neatly made bed.

Raven doesn’t seem to feel the need to talk anymore, just commanding Clarke with little decisive touches and smirks and glares, and under her direction Clarke arranges herself on her back on her own bed, head on the pillow, arms at her sides ( _or else_ , the glare told Clarke when she had moved to cover the way her stomach softened into a little pooch when she wasn’t standing and tensing the muscles), legs loosely closed.

Clarke barely breathes, staring up at Raven who’s standing at her bedside, dragging her eyes over every crevice of Clarke’s body that’s been revealed. Clarke would think it’s clinical except for the flush slowly creeping up Raven’s neck. Raven’s still fully dressed, flannel pj pants and a ratty t-shirt just peeking out from under her hoodie. She even has fucking slipper socks on, Clarke notices, and she feels that clenching again at the thought of Raven being so covered and herself being utterly naked and helpless.

Then Raven climbs on the bed, lifts one leg over Clarke’s body until she’s straddling Clarke’s midsection. She sits down firmly, her knees on either side of Clarke’s ribcage, and Clarke lets out a little whoosh of air, but she’s not so heavy that Clarke can’t breathe pretty much comfortably. Instead she feels the pleasant warmth of Raven’s skin soaking through the flannel and warming Clarke’s bare body, and Clarke lets her eyelids close at the sensation.

A sharp pinch to her nipple and it’s accompanying bolt between her legs has her eyes snapping wide open again, and Clarke’s helplessly, hopelessly turned on by the look Raven gets when she watches Clarke’s nipple plump and darken to a raspberry color.

Clarke lets out a little noise when Raven cups both breasts in her hands, and the pads of her fingers are rough and calloused from constantly working on her mechanical side projects but her palms are _soft_ and her hands are smaller on Clarke’s breasts than she had expected, only ever used to seeing them covered by a man’s hands.

Raven pauses at the noise, then pushes her breasts up and together, seemingly comparing the abused nipple to its twin. She holds them there contemplatively and then swipes both her thumbs over the nipples, almost as if experimenting. Clarke swallows hard to keep from letting her squeak slip out of her mouth, and Raven glances up at her face at the movement. She raises an eyebrow at Clarke and Clarke bites her lip in response.

Raven’s nostrils flare and she swipes her thumbs again, this time more roughly, and Clarke’s hips move in the tiniest little jerk.

Raven looks triumphant and a flush is covering nearly all of Clarke’s chest at this point, but the weight of Raven’s body on hers and the delicate roughness of the engineer’s hands on her tits is one of the most delicious, forbidden feelings she’s _ever_ experienced.

Raven hums deep in her throat, and then she’s scooting back so she can comfortably lean forward to lick the unpinched nipple into her _mouth,_ and it’s hot and wet and then Raven sucks Clarke’s nipple with so much force that Clarke can see her cheeks hollow and Clarke can’t help but groan long and loud. Raven doesn’t stop at the noise this time, though; she keeps sucking and nibbling and licking until there’s a constant line of electrifying sensation connecting her breast and her clit, and when Raven pulls free with a little pop and switches sides, her fingers pinch the damp, swollen nipple _hard_ until Clarke lets out a little squeal.

She wonders wildly if she can come from Raven’s mouth on her breasts alone; the skittering sparks between her legs seem to say _maybe, maybe, maybe._

She’s almost about to see if that maybe can become a _yes, yes, yes_ when Raven abruptly sits up and smacks at Clarke’s hands. Clarke hadn’t realized she’d begun to stroke Raven’s ankles, just featherlight touches, in time with the sensations Raven was creating. Her ankles were the only part of her that Clarke could touch without moving her arms completely, and honestly Clarke is amazed that she hadn’t moved more by this point.

But the stinging slaps to her wrists and the gravelly “ _No”_ that Raven grits out make the message clear. Clarke is not to touch.

Clarke whimpers a little, more at the lack of Raven’s touch than at the command, and then her breath catches in her throat when Raven scoots back until she’s straddling Clarke’s knees instead of her belly. Raven leans forward and places her hands on Clarke’s shoulders; then she presses firmly and _drags_ , her palms running over Clarke’s clavicle, then breasts, then midsection, her nails following and causing little sparks of heat when they catch on Clarke’s pale skin.

When she reaches Clarke’s belly, she pauses, and Clarke’s embarrassed as Raven contemplates the gentle curve of flesh Clarke’s never quite been able to get rid of. But Raven just dips a thumb into Clarke’s navel and watches the muscles around it spasm in response.

“Soft,” is all she says, and Clarke would take it as an insult but for the way she’s looking at and stroking the skin.

After a moment, Raven slides her hands to the sides, grasping Clarke’s hips and suddenly digging in tightly to the flesh with her fingertips. Clarke’s hips jerk, and she’s not sure if she’s trying to get away from Raven’s hands or closer to them. When Raven smoothes her hands down Clarke’s hips and thighs to where she herself is perched, Clarke knows the answer is closer, always closer.

Raven rests her hand on her own knees and just watches Clarke. Clarke meets her gaze, and it seems like this should be the most embarrassing moment of her life but it’s _not,_ and she should want to shove Raven off and grab her robe and make a break for it but she _doesn’t_ , because that’s _not_ what she wants, and what she actually really, _really_ wants is for Raven to start touching her again. Finally Raven _smiles_ at her, and sure, her teeth are bared and it’s more feral than kind, but Clarke doesn’t give a damn.

Raven shifts and grabs Clarke’s thigh; in just a few seconds of shuffling, Raven’s no longer straddling Clarke’s knees but is kneeling between them. Clarke’s aware that she’s squeezing her legs together as much as she can with Raven blocking her, but this is the last moment before they can’t say it was just an experiment, just a weird moment, just Raven getting angry and Clarke letting her.

Raven arches her eyebrow and grasps the backs of Clarke’s knees in her hands, and Clarke bites her lip but doesn’t protest when Raven lifts her legs apart and up until she’s splayed open, bare, for the other girl to see.

Clarke’s wet, she _knows_ she’s wet, she also knows that she’s pretty sure this is the wettest she’s _ever_ been without lube or a couple of orgasms ahead of time, but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed when Raven’s lips part a little in surprise and she licks her lips as if her mouth is too dry.

She wants to feel triumphant or powerful or something when Raven swallows hard, looking at Clarke’s glistening cunt, but the desire is cut off by the barely-there touch Raven feathers over her vulva, and all she can feel is desire itself.

A shiver travels down her whole body and it seems to spur Raven into action, because suddenly she’s splaying one hand across Clarke’s pelvis to hold her in place, her thumb the only digit actually touching her clit––not swiping or grinding or circling, just touching it, unmoving, and the other hand is drifting fingers up and down her slit. When Clarke tries to shift so that Raven’s thumb stimulates her clit, the thumb lifts away and the other splayed fingers dig into the soft flesh of her lower belly. Clarke winces and immediately gets the message, stilling.

The thumb goes back to her clit and the steady presence of it and the trailing sparks of sensation caused by Raven’s free hand tracing her labia are quickly driving Clarke mad. It feels incredibly good, yet it’s the kind of good that does nothing to get her closer to her orgasm, and Clarke _knows_ that this could be one of the best orgasms of her goddamned life if Raven would just _let_ ––

With little fanfare, Raven stops drifting and slips one slender finger, two, then _three_ fingers into Clarke’s pussy, and even though she’s tight around Raven’s fingers almost to point of being uncomfortable, it’s the best thing Clarke’s ever felt.

 _Ever_.

Clarke can only pant, every part of her focused on the sensation of Raven’s fingers between her legs, _inside her,_ when Raven makes a little noise of surprise.

“ _Oh_ ,” the other girl says with a tone of realization. “Jesus _fuck_ , you’re tight.”

Clarke whimpers in response when Raven attempts to flex her fingers inside Clarke’s cunt, and then her hips jerk involuntarily when the moving fingers bump into a particular spot.

Oh god, _oh god oh god oh god._ Clarke’s clearly not a virgin, she’s nowhere near a fucking _novice_ ; she had let Wells finger fuck her way more than once when they were young, experimenting adolescents, and goddamned Finn had fingered her to orgasm more times than she could count, but something about Raven’s fingers is better than any memory.

“This is why,” Raven says, and her voice is a little dark and a little scary and a lot hot as hell when she presses once on Clarke’s clit, and Clarke shudders, but tries to keep her eyes open and follow what the hell Raven’s talking about.

Raven lets out a little laugh and just the sound of it makes Clarke clench around Raven.

“This is why he wanted to fuck you,” Raven says, and Clarke’s heart starts to sink; if Raven says she’s figured it out, she’ll stop, it’ll be over, she’ll hate Clarke and Clarke will be left a shaking puddle of need on her sweat-dampened bed––

But Raven laughs again and ducks to nip Clarke’s lips, Clarke’s breasts, quicker than Clarke can even register as it happens, and then she _twists_ her fingers inside of Clarke, sliding them in and out, in and out with a fucking obscene sound because Clarke’s so goddamned soaking wet for her, and when Clarke is unable to hold herself still anymore, hips trembling and spasming, Raven turns the hand fucking Clarke palm up until the fingers are hitting that _spot_ with every stroke. Clarke is _so close so close so close,_ if only Raven would just move the thumb still avoiding her clit, when Raven presses firmly against the spot that makes Clarke choke and stops moving her hand completely.

“Say his name,” she demands. Clarke can barely see her for the sweat dripping into her eyes and the way her entire body is poised, trembling, on the brink, and she can’t believe that she’s actually heard Raven correctly, but then the girl says it again.

“Say his fucking name, and I’ll make you come.” Raven presses even more sharply up into the soft flesh inside Clarke, and Clarke lets out a cry, because it feels good but it actually _hurts_ too. Tears well up in her eyes and she doesn’t know if it’s because of her body or the look in Raven’s eyes as she plays Clarke like a fucking instrument.

“Say it,” Raven whispers one last time with a vicious twist of her fingers, and Clarke’s back is bowing off the bed, away from the pain and the pleasure, and she’s so _close_. “ _Say it._ ”

“ _Finn,_ ” Clarke sobs out, hating herself, and Raven tells her not to fucking stop, “ _Finn Finn Finn Finn Finn––_ ” and Raven moves her thumb in quick light circles over Clarke’s clit and the fingers inside Clarke aren’t harsh anymore but firm and decisive and when one thrust of Raven’s hand nearly lifts Clarke off the bed she’s coming harder than she ever has in her life, tears on her cheeks and sweat on her brow and a girl’s merciless fingers deep in her traitorous, spasming, slick cunt.

Clarke sobs again when Raven’s fingers don’t leave her and when her hypersensitive flesh can’t take a second more, she shoves at Raven’s hands until they pull away. Clarke closes her eyes and curls into a ball as best she can with Raven still kneeling between her legs, tears running down her face while she gulps in air, and she feels satisfied and humiliated and wrong and right and used and lost.

She hears and feels Raven clamber off the bed, but she doesn’t hear the girl move away.

“Hey,” Raven says eventually, and Clarke doesn’t want to look at her but she can’t not. She cracks open her eyes to see Raven pull her glistening fingers back out of her mouth, and _god_ , it’s unfair that Raven can still make Clarke want after what she just did to her. Raven’s eyes slide away from Clarke’s and to her wet hand.

“Huh. That too,” she says, more to herself, but Clarke knows what she means and scoffs angrily.

“Hardly,” she sneers. Raven’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“He never?” she asks, gesturing toward Clarke’s clenched thighs.

“No,” Clarke bites out.

“Me either,” the other girl says after a minute but Clarke’s not in the mood to bond over the asshole that fucked them both, and she stays silent.

“You should take that shower,” Raven says when Clarke doesn’t speak.

Clarke sits up then, refuses to notice the way Raven’s eyes dip up then back down, and hops off the bed.

“Fuck off, Raven,” Clarke says, and pushes past her to grab her robe and caddy.

 

She cries in the shower, then rubs her clit until she comes pretending her hand is Raven’s, and then she cries some more.

* * *

They coexist for that day and the next in silence, frosty on Clarke’s end and apparently pensive on Raven’s, if the way she won’t stop staring at Clarke is any indication. Clarke doesn’t know why she can’t just make herself leave the fucking dorm room and Raven with it, but going to the library or the dorm’s study lounge and trying to concentrate on school just seems absurd.

So if she lies silent, sleepless, in her treacherous bed all night, and sits at her desk and marathons _Law and Order_ all day, and if she tears up and sniffles at nearly every terrible, horrible episode, that’s her own goddamned business.

It’s late in the afternoon on Sunday when Raven breaks the silence.

“Clarke,” she says, and Clarke’s immediately pissed off that she has the guts to sound so authoritative and confident and sure instead of nervous. She turns up the volume to her earbuds.

“ _Clarke_ ,” Raven repeats when Clarke stubbornly focuses on Olivia Benson’s newest terrible haircut instead of her. Then she pulls the earbuds out of Clarke’s laptop.

“Hey!” Clarke cries, spinning in her desk chair to glare at Raven, who’s standing close enough their knees brush. “Back off, Raven.”

“No,” she responds firmly. “I have something to say.”

Clarke glares. “I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry,” Raven says.

She stiffens. “You...you’re _sorry_?” she echoes.

The other girl nods, and her expression is cocky but her hands are twisting together.

Clarke sighs, suddenly feeling the exhaustion that comes with two sleepless nights and hours upon hours of tension.

“Whatever, Raven. Leave me alone.”

Raven’s hand grabbing the back of Clarke’s chair prevents her from spinning back to her laptop.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, Clarke,” she says quietly, the confidence gone from her face now. “I was lost, and hurting, and I tried to make you hurt like I was hurting. But that was wrong.”

Clarke imagines how _she_ would have felt if she had been with Finn for four years instead of one, and then she curses herself because that’s not her problem.

“What you did was shitty,” she says flatly. “I let you–” she breaks off.

“I know.” Raven nods. “I fucked it up.”

“Yeah. You did.”

Raven bites her lip and Clarke hates that she notices.

“Let me make it up to you,” Raven blurts out, and her voice squeaks with nervousness.

Clarke stares at her. “...What?”

“I’m going to make it up to you,” Raven states more firmly.

Before Clarke can respond, or scoff, or ignore her, Raven’s dragging the hoodie up and off her body. It hits the ground and Clarke quickly realizes two things: one, that she took her shirt with it, and two, that Raven isn’t wearing a bra.

Clarke watches dumbly as Raven unceremoniously pulls off her sweats and panties and chucks them across the room. Then she’s standing in front of Clarke, who’s still sitting, mouth gaping, in her desk chair, and Raven’s naked, all fawn-colored skin and narrow waist and dark, neat hair between her legs.

“What–” Clarke tries say. “How–” How, exactly, does Raven stripping naked and looking like a goddess make things up to Clarke? Yeah, Clarke can’t bring herself to look away, but she doesn’t have the slightest clue how Raven thinks this will help things between them.

There are no arms on the cheap, dorm-provided computer chairs so there’s nothing to hinder Raven as she unceremoniously straddles Clarke and sits down in the blonde’s lap.

“Raven,” Clarke manages to get out, but then Raven’s hands are carefully holding her face, and her mouth is on Clarke’s, and she’s kissing Clarke excruciatingly slowly and gently. She takes her time, coaxing Clarke’s lips open with sweet little strokes of her tongue, and then she’s languidly exploring Clarke’s mouth, breaking away every once in a while to press a tiny, close-mouthed kiss to her open lips. It’s a dreamy kiss, a fairy-tale kiss, a true-love and happily-ever-after kiss. Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever been kissed as carefully or as perfectly as Raven is kissing her now. And that’s why she finally pulls away.

“Raven,” she says, “What are you doing?” And she hates the way her voice breaks a little in the middle and her eyes get blurry, but Raven holds one hand to Clarke’s jaw while the other strokes gently from her forehead to her cheek.

“I hurt you last time,” Raven says. “And now I want to make you feel good.” Something in the way she says _good_ tells Clarke she doesn’t just mean the she-wants-to-make-Clarke-come kind of feel good. Besides, she did that last time even as she destroyed Clarke. But she means something different, something slow and different and _good_.

And Clarke knows she should say no, because no one has ever managed to hurt her the way Raven did, but she finds herself slowly nodding yes instead.

Raven presses another soft kiss to her mouth, then climbs off Clarke’s lap and helps her stand.

She must feel Clarke’s hesitation when she moves toward Clarke’s twin bed, so she changes directions without missing a beat and leads her to Raven’s bed, blankets rumpled and sheets shoved down to the bottom like usual. Once they’re by the bed, she undresses Clarke too, but like her kisses this time it’s slow and careful, rolling Clarke’s leggings and cotton panties down to her ankles, lifting her feet out of the fabric. She unzips Clarke’s sweatshirt and pulls it off one sleeve at a time, then pulls the t-shirt over Clarke’s head. Clarke’s wearing a bra, which Raven knows is unusual when Clarke’s at home with nothing to do, and her gaze is apologetic as she slides the straps down Clarke’s arms and reaches behind her to undo the clasp.

Clarke’s breath hitches as Raven’s body presses against hers in that moment––this is what she missed, the first time. The warmth and give of another body.

Now they’re both bare, and Clarke can’t help but notice the differences between them, Raven’s dark hair where she’s bare, her stomach flat where Clarke’s is soft, her skin tanned and beautiful where Clarke’s is moon-white, her nipples dusky where Clarke’s are pale pink.

Raven is the first to lie on the bed and she tugs Clarke’s wrist until Clarke joins her, hesitantly positioning herself so they’re side by side, facing each other.

Raven smiles at her and Clarke can feel her breath against her lips.

“There you go, Griffin.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose at Raven, then goes a little cross-eyed when Raven darts forward and kisses it. Clarke blinks, and Raven smirks, which Clarke is thankful for because that’s more like the Raven she’s come to know, and then Raven’s moving forward, pressing the entire length of her body against Clarke’s. But the other girl still moves slowly, as if coaxing a wounded animal, and Clarke realizes that’s kind of exactly what she’s doing, but doesn’t care as she sighs into Raven’s mouth.

It’s so different, held against one another like this, and Clarke’s so warm, and Raven’s nipples are pebbled and pressed against Clarke’s own breasts, and Clarke never imagined this as something she would do but she doesn’t know now how she could ever not have it again.

She pulls her mouth away from Raven’s, but Raven doesn’t seem to mind, instead trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down Clarke’s neck.

“Raven,” Clarke says, “have you...have you done this, before?” _With someone else_ , she thinks.

Raven pauses and lifts her head to look at Clarke.

“Yes,” she says, “but it was years ago, and only once.” _Only one other_ , she’s telling Clarke, who swallows and nods.

“Well, you seem to, um, remember a lot,” Clarke says, and then sighs when Raven kisses the top of her breast.

“With the right inspiration, you can figure anything out,” Raven replies in a matter-of-fact tone, and then makes Clarke squeak with a gentle nip where she had just kissed. “No more questions,” Raven demands. “Just–just let me make you feel good.”

Clarke nods, and Raven shifts until Clarke’s flat on her back and she’s straddling Clarke, like she did before, except this time she’s just as bare as Clarke and Clarke can feel the heat and the damp between Raven’s legs where she sits just below Clarke’s navel. Raven’s hair is down, for once, so when she leans forward with her arms braced on either side of Clarke to kiss the tips of her breasts, the long strands trail over Clarke’s skin leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Her nipples harden into little buds in response to Raven’s attention, and Raven takes them into her mouth one a time, laving them with her tongue until Clarke starts to sigh over and over.

“I–I liked it,” Clarke says, breaking Raven’s no-talking rule. “How you did it before.”

“Yeah?” Raven replies, glancing up at her. Then she ducks down and sucks the left nipple so hard her cheeks do that hollowy thing again, and Clarke moans and lifts a hand to stroke Raven’s hair.

She likes how that’s different this time too, how she can touch Raven back.

One of Raven’s hands creeps down Clarke’s side and further while she continues to pay attention to Clarke’s breast. Fingers stroke the cleft between Clarke’s legs, slicking her moisture from her entrance to her clit and back. Clarke whimpers when Raven doesn’t tease, and instead rubs a few light little circles around Clarke’s clit.

Raven pulls her mouth from Clarke’s breasts and deposits a final kiss on the pebbled tips before shifting down until she’s lying on her stomach on the bed between Clarke’s legs. Clarke can’t reach her very well anymore and has to settle for fisting her hand in the blankets on either side of her. Clarke watches, a little nervous and a lot turned on, while Raven wiggles her way up close and personal with her pussy, spreading Clarke’s legs wide. Raven taps the inside of her thighs, signalling to Clarke to keep them splayed open until told otherwise, and she does.

“Oh god,” Clarke says shakily when she feels Raven’s warm breath between her legs. Raven laughs a little, and it’s not like those other laughs––this one’s a little happy, a little amused, a little nervous.

“I’ve never actually done this part,” Raven admits, the words still ghosting over her flesh making Clarke bite her lip.

“That’s––that’s okay,” Clarke gets out. “Just–– _please_ , Raven.”

Raven hums in agreement, and then she leans down to rest her lips on Clarke’s clit and hums again, and Clarke lets out a trembling sigh at the sensation. She lingers there for a moment, kissing and humming and kissing, and little bursts of pleasure bubble under Clarke’s skin.

After a few moments of this, Raven must sense her getting restless, because she props herself up on her elbows and uses her hands to spread Clarke’s labia wide. Then she takes a long, slow lick from her entrance to her clit, and again, and again, pausing every now and then to lave her clit with special attention, until Clarke’s almost embarrassed by how nonstop her moaning has become. When Clarke starts feeling like she might be getting close, Raven’s tongue pauses at her entrance and stays there for one second, two seconds, five seconds, ten. Clarke’s trembling, trying not to move, trying not to force _Raven_ to move, and her efforts pay off when Raven pushes her tongue as deep into Clarke as she can. It’s a shallow movement of course, but Raven fucking Clarke with her tongue is so different from anything Clarke’s ever felt, and she starts to chant the word _please_ over and over to the rhythm of the other girl’s tongue.

“I–I can’t,” Clarke stutters out. “Raven, I need, _Raven_ , I _need–_ ” Clarke doesn’t know what the fuck she needs, she just knows she needs _something_ , and Raven can give it to her.

And Raven does. She shifts and replaces her tongue with her fingers, and the steady glide of them in and out is soothing, and then she fastens her mouth around Clarke’s clit and _sucks_ like she sucked Clarke’s nipples, and there’s _nothing_ soothing about it, it’s only electrifying and terrifying and perfect, and Raven moves her fingers in that perfect way she knows how to, and Clarke is flying apart, Raven’s name on her lips.

When she finally comes down, Raven pulls her fingers out of Clarke and sucks them into her mouth, grinning wickedly as Clarke watches, dazed.

“Wow,” Clarke says eventually, and Raven’s responding smile is blindingly bright.

“Good?” she asks, and Clarke nods.

“I think even my teeth are tingling,” Clarke says, and Raven laughs. She scoots back up the bed until she’s against Clarke’s side again, her front pressing against Clarke’s arm. Clarke turns her head to look at her, and Raven drapes an arm heavily across Clarke’s stomach.

“Good,” Raven replies finally, and closes her eyes. Clarke watches her still face and wonders. Does she actually just want to cuddle? Does she not––does she not _want_ , like Clarke did? (Does. Will.)

Raven shifts a leg until her thigh is draped comfortably over Clarke’s, and the heat and wet she feels from between Raven’s legs tells her, no, Raven does want. But for some reason she’s not telling Clarke what she wants, or taking it, so Clarke gathers her courage and turns to face Raven fully, slipping a hand in between them and stroking between Raven’s legs.

Raven gasps, but seems to make an effort to keep her eyes closed for some reason, letting Clarke do what she wants.

She’s slick and swollen and Clarke’s curious, so she nudges her knee fully between Raven’s thighs while she brings her own wet fingers to her mouth. Salty, musky, almost bitter––but Clarke likes it.

Raven lets out a little moan when Clarke’s knee nudges her clit, and Clarke starts grinding her knee carefully against her while her hands trail up to Raven’s breasts. They _are_ smaller than hers, but that means when she leans forward she can suck more of them into her mouth, and when she finally lets them go and Raven sighs, she likes the way they glisten in the late afternoon light. Raven’s hips are moving now, apparently helpless to stop herself from humping Clarke’s knee, and Clarke never knew her leg was such an erogenous zone, but the hot wetness Raven leaves on Clarke’s skin sets her on fire again.

Raven’s eyes are still closed, but she whimpers when Clarke moves her knee away and lets her hands replace it. She doesn’t bother to explore, not this time; she guides two fingers into Raven’s entrance and revels in the slippery heat she feels. Her other hand moves to circle Raven’s clit, and Raven seems to enjoy it while she keeps stroking her other fingers in and out. But then she decides to try her own favorite rhythm on the other girl, two slow, firm circles over the clit followed by three fast, hard ones, and repeat, over and over––and that has Raven’s breath hitching and her hips jerking and her hands grasping onto Clarke like a lifeline.

“ _Clarke_ ,” she says in a broken whimper, opening her eyes and staring wildly at Clarke, and then she comes with a little cry, fluttering wildly around Clarke’s fingers, and Clarke’s not sure she’s ever seen anything so beautiful or so fucking hot.

Clarke’s fingers slide free with a wet sound, and she wipes her hand on Raven’s belly, making the muscles jump.

“Hey!” Raven complains, her voice still breathy. “Now I’ll have to shower.”

Clarke hums and snuggles closer to Raven’s languid body.

“So will I,” she says, feeling the damp, sticky heat that covers her body. She feels Raven shift and glances up to see her with a thoughtful expression on her face. Then they’re both scrambling off the bed, Clarke giggling and Raven snickering, sliding on their bathrobes and grabbing their shower caddies and room keys.

The dorm bathroom on their floor is utterly empty, and Clarke is utterly delighted.

They both go into the larger handicapped shower stall together, and Clarke squeals when Raven aims the handheld shower head at her, and then she stifles her moans into Raven’s shoulder when the girl sits on the built in bench and shows her how to ride Raven’s leg to orgasm.

Clarke might cry in the shower a little bit that time, but it’s the good, achingly satisfied and blissed out type of cry.

* * *

Clarke worries that they’ll be weird after this, after they’ve had a night, a week, a month to sleep on it, or that they’ll be fuck buddies but not friends, but none of that is true. They’re best friends, and Raven still throws paperbacks at Clarke when she starts to talk to herself while studying, and Clarke still has to drag Raven away from her honors project for mechanical engineering to eat at the dining commons, but then they get to do all the good stuff, too, and it’s not weird.

They fuck to new Maroon 5 single, panting to each other about how fucking hot Adam Levine is, and they fuck when Clarke’s jittery from too much studying and not enough movement and she can’t concentrate on her notes anymore, and they fuck when Raven’s pissed about the stupidly attractive but condescending chemical engineer in her advanced stats class.

Raven fucks her with her tongue on the anniversary of Jake Griffin’s death because she doesn’t want Clarke to be crying over her father all day, so instead she makes sure that Clarke spends at least some of the time crying out Raven’s name.

When Raven wakes from a nightmare, a memory, of finding her mother dead in a pool of her own vomit, Clarke crawls into bed with her and strokes the fear and pain away until Raven comes in trembling mess, and then she comes again, and _again_ and then they fall asleep, legs tangled, heart to heart.

They meet an older boy with messy hair when they use their new fake IDs to sneak into a club called Grounders, and they agree with each other that he’s easily the most fuckable man they’ve seen in a long time. And then they actually fuck him, and it’s hot as fuck and they make plans to do it again, but when Raven and Clarke get back to their room they’re glad it’s just the two of them together in that moment.

And that’s how it goes. The two of them, together, sometimes when they don’t need it and always when they do, and apart only when they want to be, which isn’t often, because together the darkness is bright again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo that happened. Title is from "Lost Stars" by Adam Levine. ;)


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